Page 7 of A Wish for Jinnie
Jinnie shook her head as Wilma filled the glass to the brim. She had no idea what she would wish for. To have Mark back? No, no and a thousand times no. To find more direction, more purpose in her life? Probably, but baby steps were enough for now: getting back on her feet, financially at least, and then seeing where things led. A wish for global peace, an end to famine and all the other horrors she witnessed on the news? Jinnie was sure that millions of people wished for these things daily, to no avail. And what were wishes, anyway? Just vague little wisps of hope that rose and popped, as fleeting as the bubbles in a champagne glass.
‘I don’t have a wish, Gran. Except to be healthy and happy. And for you, and Mum and Dad, and Archie and Hannah, and everyone I know and love, to be OK. That’s it. End of.’
To her horror, Jinnie’s eyes filled with tears, and one spilled over and dripped on to her T-shirt. She dabbed at it with her finger, aware of Wilma’s concerned stare. A moment later, her gran had shuffled over and wrapped her tobacco and perfume-scented arms around Jinnie’s heaving shoulders.
‘Everybody has a wish, sweetie. It’s just you don’t always know what you want — or need — until someone points you in the right direction. Save it for now. When the time’s right, you’ll know. Trust me.’
A short while later, Jinnie gathered up her stuff and hugged her gran tightly. It was time to head back to Cranley and all it had — or didn’t have — to offer. She’d speak to Ken about some bar work, and her sparkling ring might just find its way to a reputable pawnbroker.
‘Don’t be a stranger, sweetie,’ said Wilma. ‘You know I’m always here, a wee bit deaf and full of shite, but you wouldnae want a gran who knits and bakes, would yae?’
Jinnie shook her head. She was glad of her badass Gran, with her antisocial habits, serious attitude, and obsession with tea leaves. The logo on her bag, about being dead for a long time, summed up her take on life. If only Jinnie could be even a tenth as brave…
‘Take care, Jinnie,’ said Wilma, shoving the uppermost pile of teetering magazines back into position. ‘My door’s always open for tea, sympathy and wine. And dinnae forget my favourite motto.’
Jinnie smiled as she kissed her gran goodbye. In unison they chanted: ‘Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye!’If things are meant to happen, they will. With the phrase running through her mind on a loop, Jinnie headed for the station.
Chapter 10
‘How was your weekend?’Sam asked when Jinnie arrived for work on Monday morning. He was standing on a ladder, attempting to hang a glittering chandelier. As he wobbled alarmingly, Jinnie steadied the bottom of the ladder and tried not to stare at his exposed stomach as his shirt rode up. Toned, lightly tanned and with a pleasing amount of body hair. Jinnie had always had a bit of a thing about body hair. A tantalising glimpse of chest hair protruding from an open-necked shirt got her a little hot and bothered. Strange, really, as Mark’s chest had been smooth as a baby’s bottom, while his own bottom was surprisingly hirsute by comparison.
‘Not bad,’ she replied, stepping aside as Sam climbed down to safety. ‘The girls’ night out was a bit of a damp squib, but it was lovely to see my folks. Oh, and my gran is an absolute hoot. I want to be just like her when I grow up!’ OK, maybe without the smoking and the tea leaves, just with that devil-may-carejoie de vivre.‘What did you get up to? Were you writing?’
Jinnie had quickly managed to look up Alistair Scott on Amazon before she left her Mum and Dad’s. Blimey, he hadhundredsof five and four-star ratings, and was clearly raking in some decent money if his rankings were anything to go by. Her personal favourite review, though, was a one-star moaning that ‘I haven’t read it yet’. Honestly, people could be so stupid!
‘A bit of writing, yes, and a short FaceTime chat with my son,’ said Sam.
Damn, thought Jinnie,he’s married! Or is that an assumption too far?‘Oh yes?’ was all she said.
‘He’s in his first year at Stirling University, and pinning him down for a catch-up is no mean feat,’ Sam continued. ‘I sometimes message him to ask if he’s still alive. Still, he’s doing well, and hopefully he’ll manage a visit here at some point soon.’
‘Oh, does he speak to his mum more often?’ The words were out before Jinnie could stop them, and she felt her cheeks warming up. ‘I mean … sorry, none of my business, I just wondered…’
Oh, help.Sam’s normal cheery expression had vanished, and his demeanour had turned distinctly glacial. Maybe she’d died in a horrible accident, or run off with her hunky gym instructor. Or maybe, just maybe, Sam simply didn’t appreciate Jinnie sticking her Caesar-like nose into his private life.
He was silent for a moment, then a sad smile crept across his face. ‘Yes, I think he does. We’re divorced and don’t communicate much, although we try to maintain a united front when it comes to Sean. That’s my son, our only child, and the best thing to come out of a less-than-happy marriage. Now, who’s on brew duty?’
Jinnie busied herself making coffee and arranging custard creams artistically on a willow-patterned plate. She felt bad for asking about Sam’s wife, yet ridiculously relieved to know they weren’t together. What wasthatall about? Hadn’t she sworn off men for the foreseeable future? Jinnie needed to have a stern word with her libido. Along the lines ofDown girl, get back in your box pronto.
They worked companionably for the rest of the day, selling a few bits and pieces to some tourists who’d ventured further than the capital. A Japanese couple snapped up the chandelier for an eye-watering sum, declaring it perfect for their apartment in Osaka. They didn’t even flinch at the shipping costs.
At four o’clock Sam shooed Jinnie out, telling her to drop by the pub. ‘Ken’s too proud to ask, but I know he’d welcome some help if you need a bit of extra cash. He’s a big softie really, and having you behind the bar might draw a few more punters.’
Jinnie blushed at the compliment and strode off to The Jekyll and Hyde, fully intending to chat to Ken. But as she approached, a car screeched to a halt by the main door. A tall, bearded man leapt out, to be greeted with great enthusiasm by Ken. His son Ed, perhaps. Her guess was reinforced by Mags appearing behind Ken and hugging the stranger with gusto.
Not wanting to intrude, Jinnie made her way home for a slap-up tea, courtesy of her mum’s food parcel. Home-made chicken and leek pie followed by sticky toffee pudding. Carbs be damned! A little light reading might be in order too, although Jinnie doubtedBe Careful What You Wish Forwould hit the spot. She’d had enough talk of wishes over the weekend. Right now, her only desire was for tasty grub and a bit of peace and quiet.
Two hours later, Jinnie was nursing a giant food baby and had tossed aside a novel. It was a romantic comedy, a genre she normally enjoyed, but the heroine was so sickly sweet and the hero so dull that she couldn’t bear to continue. Instead, she dragged herself upstairs with the intention of hanging the tapestry she’d procured from the shop. No potpourri yet for the bowl, and the lamp still looked forlorn and neglected. Luckily she’d snaffled a tube of metal polish from Sam’s array of products, which was sitting on the kitchen counter. Could she be bothered to fetch it? Ah well, at least another trip downstairs would burn a calorie or two…
With polish and cloth in hand, Jinnie sat on the bed and picked up the lamp. There wasn’t much she could do about the dents, but restoring some of its former lustre would help. Carefully she squeezed a dollop of polish onto the cloth and began rubbing. Immediately a patch of shiny gold appeared and … hang on … was it her imagination, or did the lamp justmove? Tentatively Jinnie rubbed the lamp again, and it vibrated in her hand. With a shriek she jumped to her feet, and the lamp bounced, then rolled across the floor. Heart pounding, Jinnie watched it come to rest below the window.
Suddenly the lamp started spinning at high speed, then rose from the floor, disappearing in a whirling grey cloud of smoke. Jinnie gasped, and squeezed the polish tube so hard it squirted down the front of her blouse. Unable to tear her eyes away, she backed up slowly, fell backwards onto the bed and banged her head on the wall. ‘Ouch!’ she squealed, at the same time as a disembodied voice emitted a similar cry of pain.What the—?
As the mini cyclone subsided, Jinnie made out a vague shape which shimmered and grew, the outline becoming more distinct. More …manlike. This couldnotbe happening, it simply wasn’t possible, except…
‘You wouldn’t happen to be a masseuse, would you, pumpkin? Because my muscles are, like,totallyin knots.’ The apparition, for want of a better word, stretched its arms and proceeded to perform a series of side bends. ‘Ooh, the agony! Actually, some of that Deep Heat stuff might do the trick. Got any to hand?’
Jinnie gawped, unable to utter a single word. Surreal didn’t begin to cover the situation and … where the heck didpumpkincome from? As the final traces of smoke dispersed, she saw a rather scrawny figure, clad in billowing purple silk harem pants. His upper half was bare, and whiter than a Scotsman stripping down after a long, cold winter. Wait a minute, surely he wasn’t a —?
